


Bloodlust

by Cosmo_Donatien



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Murder, Original Character Death(s), Shower Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 02:24:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmo_Donatien/pseuds/Cosmo_Donatien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a smudge of blood just above his eyebrow. [AU Hannigail]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloodlust

**Author's Note:**

> Totally AU Hannigail. I don’t even know if I like this. It feels a bit confused, but what isn’t in this relationship? I haven’t written smut for at least five years, so you’ll have to forgive my rustiness (practice makes perfect, so I shall write buckets more). Most likely a one-shot, though there might be room for another instalment.

Two shadows moved around the shadowy edges of the field; the taller of the two moved with feline grace, melding with the darkness, slipping through the surroundings like a knife through water, the smaller figure hurried to keep up though still trod carefully. The only sure sign of the pair shrouded in darkness was the small mists of their breath in the winter morning chill; there would be frost on the ground soon and neither could afford to leave tracks. They swept through two more fields before emerging through a hedgerow on to a roughly-made country road, the taller man holding the thorny branches of the hedge aside as his young companion stepped through; side-by-side they trotted up the road to a layby and got into a sleek black car, but not before he deposited a large bag in the trunk.

In the glow of the interior lights the pair exchanged glances – he, cool and collected, and she, practically bursting from the excitement of their activities – the key was turned in the ignition and the car pulled away into the breaking dawn. Silence prevailed in the car, a strange tension building that neither knew how to break then and there; she cast furtive glances in his direction, admiring his jawline which now featured a smear of drying redness, his silvery stubble peeking through. She then looked at herself in the passenger-side mirror and saw several smears of blood across her face and knew that her arms were covered in the vital substance; a quick feel of her hair confirmed that it was matted with the drying blood.

Their clothes were a lost cause too, and when she had asked he had assured her they would burn their clothes later. The young woman realised while on this outing with her mentor and protector that she had much to learn if she was to be anything like him, which she desperately wanted to be. She sat back in her seat, the plastic seat covering rustling with her movements – at least they had taken precautions with the upholstery of the vehicle – and ran the events leading up to the grizzly scene they had just left behind through her mind.

 

* * *

 

She had picked this one out when she had met him at a bar. She had been waiting for her mentor to meet her so they could go on to dinner at a new restaurant in the city, she had been made-up in her trusty little black dress with modest make up and a hint of perfume, when another man not too much older than her had approached; he introduced himself as Scott and enquired about her plans for the evening and she had told him she was waiting for her friend, at this the young man insinuated that no woman would get so dressed up for a friend and that she would surely be ‘fucked brainless’ later on that night. She had been prepared to let that go and put his behaviour down to one-too-many beers, but Scott continued and told her that if she was not later engaged in carnal relations with her ‘friend’ then he would be more than happy to accommodate her – of course he had put it far more crassly and she felt her skin crawl as he handed her his number on a napkin. She had nodded politely and thanked him for the offer, making a show of putting the napkin into her clutch; she made her decision to tell her protector that Scott had to be next – she doubted he would disagree.

They had planned the whole thing over dinner, the architecture of the restaurant ensuring that sound did not travel between tables; she would contact Scott via a disposable cellphone, gain his trust and lure him to a location of their choosing where The Doctor would meet them. They put the conversation on hold while they ate, instead he told her of various operas he thought she might be interested in attending and that he had been invited to the launch of a new gallery downtown and would she accompany him? At her acceptance of his invitation he had given her a smile that lit up his maroon eyes and she smiled shyly back, enjoying his attentions.

When the night of her kill had arrived she had worn a navy dress that came to just above her knees and accessorised with a small tan bag and tan shoes; the Doctor had assured her he would bring her some clothes more suited to their activities later. She had given him a peck on the cheek and confirmed the location they would meet before she skipped out of the door and to the waiting cab at the end of the driveway. When she had arrived at the same bar to meet Scott she wrinkled her nose at the smell of his breath; he was already half-cut, and when she commented that he should slow down he assured her that it wouldn’t affect his sexual performance. She fought to keep a smile plastered to her face as she grew more and more bored with him – apparently watching him play pool constituted as wooing her. As the night grew late, she checked the time before approaching Scott, squeezing his shoulder with a gentle pressure as she suggested that they go somewhere more private; with an animal grin he had agreed and they had left in a cab which he told her she would be paying the fare for. She had the driver drop them just outside the city.

 “Do you live out here?” Scott had questioned her, confused by her classy appearance and the run-down neighbourhood they stood in. She had told him that she used to, and she knew a place they wouldn’t be disturbed and set off towards a largely unused road that would lead to the barn she had picked out a week ago. The young man had followed her eagerly, certain he was going to benefit from her plans.

How wrong he was, and he knew it the moment the barn door clanged shut behind him; he whirled around and his eyes beheld the imposing figure of Hannibal Lecter, red eyes fixed firmly on him. He turned back to face the girl, “Susie?”

“You won’t be leaving here tonight, Scott,” she said matter-of-factly, effectively distracting him from Hannibal who had swiftly injected the young man with a muscle relaxant. When Scott crumpled into a heap on the floor, she had bent down to meet his eyes and whispered, “My name is Abigail.”

The Good Doctor had let her have free-reign initially, explaining that he didn’t need this kill to look like a victim of the Chesapeake Ripper, but at the coppery tang of fresh blood he had soon given in and joined Abigail in mutilating Scott’s body, ensuring that the boy would live long enough to see the glee on Abigail’s face as she inspected his insides.

 

* * *

 

Returning her attentions to the present, Abigail saw that they were almost home; Hannibal tapped the steering wheel as he enjoyed the classical station he had tuned the radio to, and she smiled fondly at his relaxed countenance. She realised that as she had reminisced the tension between them had dissipated and they had returned to their comfortable relationship.

The Doctor pulled the car into the driveway and they both exited, Abigail practically bounded up to the front door, a second rush of endorphins and adrenaline kicking in. The early morning sunrise suffused their surroundings with warmth and she yawned despite her excited state; Hannibal came up behind her to open the front door and chuckled, his breath disturbing the hair on top of her head.

“Tired, Abigail?”

“Not really,” she shrugged, carefully moving into the house with him, aware that they were both covered in gore.

“I think,” he began, “showers are in order.”

“Shame. I was thinking I’d love nothing more than to go sit on the beige chair in the living room.” Coquettishly, she made to walk towards the lounge and smirked over her shoulder at him.

“Don’t you dare leave this hallway,” he warned, gesturing to her shoes. He had removed his and placed them to one side, along with his socks.

“But how will I get to a shower?”

“Take off your shoes,” he commanded in his clipped tone. She did as he said, but saw that blood had soaked into her tights. Hannibal gave a small sigh at the sight of her feet and swiftly moved to her, sweeping her up into his arms, causing Abigail to yelp in surprise. “This is how you will be getting to the shower,” he explained and slowly began to ascend the stairs, careful not to let her hair or feet touch the wall or bannister. Abigail watched his face throughout her journey; noticing a smudge of blood just above his eyebrow. He set her down on the tiled bathroom floor and gestured to the walk in shower, she nodded but didn’t move. “What is it?”

“You have something- come here,” he took a step towards her and bent at the waist so their faces were level. Abigail felt her insides start to squirm as her eyes drifted from his to his lips and then to the smudge above his eyebrow; in a moment of boldness she darted her mouth to the smudge and licked the blood from his face. When she met his eyes again they had darkened, sending a violent thrill through her. Without breaking eye contact he took her hand, caressing her blood stained digits with his own.

“You have something here,” he explained, placing one of her fingers between his lips, laving the pad of it with his wicked tongue. He closed his eyes for a moment to savour the tang of the blood, releasing her finger from his mouth with a small pop. “Delectable,” he uttered, eyes locked with hers.

Heat pooled in her belly, her adrenaline surged, and she felt as though his eyes were setting her aflame. With a whimper of longing she grasped the lapels of his stained jacket and dragged him closer, the movement of his weight causing her to back up against the sink. She crashed her mouth into his and he responded with a hunger that surprised her, his tongue forcing its way past her lips and teeth and into her mouth, battling with her own for dominance. One of his hands moved to the side of her head and tangled with her matted hair, pulling just enough to cause her pain; her hands flew to his jaw, nails scratching through the stubble and down his neck to the collar of his jacket. He broke from her, leaving them both gasping for breath, and stared at her with his unwavering gaze. She saw her nails had left red scratch lines down his neck and licked her lips at his mussed and bloody appearance; he cocked his head to one side and raised a brow as if to tell her this was all her doing. She didn’t care.

Meeting his eyes once more, Abigail slipped her jacket off and tossed it to the floor, her heart giving a thrill as he moved to do the same. Then they became a frenzy of movement; she removing her blouse, skirt and tights and he removing his pullover and shirt. Hannibal stood stock still and regarded her again, and she became frustrated by his lack of movement; where was the power he just displayed? She began to move toward him and this seemed to spur him into action; he reached for her with his blood-stained hand and pulled her to him, his face beside hers, studying her before extending his tongue to swipe across her cheek. He gave a feral grunt before his hands reached behind her and unclasped her bra before moving to slide her panties from her hips; Abigail stepped out of them as she shrugged the bra from her shoulders, watching as he undid his belt buckle and pulled his trousers and trunks off. She had no time to appreciate his nude form as he swept her off the ground and deposited her in the shower, turning on the spray and dousing them both. He looked down at her soaked form, chest heaving as he breathed heavily, clearly trying to control himself; she looked up at him and cupped his cheek with her hand – this was his undoing.

Lightning-quick, he had her pinned to the wall of the shower, his mouth affixed to the scar on her neck, making his mark over it. She squirmed under his ministrations, nails raking from the base of his spine up to his broad shower-slick shoulders, which she clutched. He moved lower still, taking one nipple into his mouth and cupping her other breast in his large hand, dexterous fingers mimicking the movements of his mouth. Abigail’s mouth formed a silent ‘O’ and she wound her fingers into his wet hair, pulling at it; he took her cue and moved back up to her face, capturing her mouth in a violent kiss, hands grasping her hips with bruising force and pulling them to meet the evidence of his own arousal. His left hand moved to cup her mons, and she moaned into his mouth as he probed at her entrance; he growled in response to her moan and entered her with his fingers, thumb moving against her clit as he thrust them into her. Abigail felt something coiling within her, getting tighter with every movement he made with his hands; he pulled his face from hers and watched her with heavy-lidded eyes, enjoying his control over her. Just as she thought she would come apart under his gaze he removed his hand and she gave a frustrated groan, hands pulling at his shoulders, nails digging into his wet skin as she tugged but found him unyielding.

Hannibal seemed to come to a decision as he nodded to himself before he spun her around and shoved her up against the wall, pulling her hips back towards him; she felt the blunt tip of him tracing her sex before he drove up and into her completely, causing her to shriek in both pain and pleasure. He immediately began thrusting into her with force, one hand still clutching at her hip, one hand bracing himself against the wall; he bent and closed his sensuous mouth over her shoulder, biting down and drawing blood, garnering a gasp from her. Her taste spurred him on and he thrust harder and faster, the hand on her hip moving to her clit, but his fingers remained still, forcing her to grind herself on to them. He straightened and moved his hand from the wall to her neck, squeezing gently, exciting her further – she moaned loudly and redoubled her efforts, moving her hips to meet his powerful movements.

The sounds of slapping skin, keens and grunts drowned out the shower as water continued to fall around them; the blood had washed from their skin down the drain, although her hair still bled watery-red rivers across her back. Between the power of the man behind her and the pleasure from his fingers, now actively flicking at her clit, Abigail felt the tension in her body snap and her vision swam as she exploded into orgasm with a wail, her inner walls clamping down around him as he raced to reach his own completion, throwing his head back and releasing a deep growl as he stiffened and emptied himself into her.

She collapsed against the cool wall and he followed, covering her with his larger frame, his weight a comfort to her. She didn’t want to move and clenched her muscles as she felt his softening member start to slip from her; he gave a throaty chuckle as she moaned her disappointment into the tiles.

“Gravity,” he breathed into her hair by way of explanation before pushing himself off of her and turning her to face him, careful not to touch the shoulder he had bitten into. She looked into his eyes, which held affection for her, and smiled tiredly up at him. “Come,” he said, reaching for the soap, “let’s finish up in here and get to bed.”

As she reached for the shampoo Abigail realised that she didn’t care were they went; like calls to like, she considered, and she couldn’t think of a better monster to share her bed with, as long he would be there as her mentor, protector, and lover she would follow him anywhere.


End file.
